


Nor Any Drop to Drink

by orgiastique



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, M/M, Phichit is an angel, Slow Burn, subtitle2: all the ragrets, subtitle3: i did not need to make it this hard for them, subtitle: how to live a hard life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orgiastique/pseuds/orgiastique
Summary: Victor and Yuuri retire from competitive figure skating having never been in each other's lives because there are more universes in which things don't happen at the right time than ones in which they do.Their story begins in their thirties.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

A freak snowstorm in April sweeps Victor Nikiforov into Hasetsu. 

Yuuri has no idea at first because it is also the day the inn hosts his dad's 40th high school reunion. In the flurry of prep work the hushed whispers among the female staff about the stylish foreigner guest that checked in earlier that afternoon fly over his head. When he finally lays eyes on Victor, it is around 10pm and he is fall-over drunk, having quickly expended all his excuses for declining the insistent invitations his dad's friends extend for a drink or twenty.

As he stumbles toward the bathroom, his shirt slips down to his elbows and the skin on his legs rise with goose bumps because he had somehow lost his pants and it is the absolute worst way to meet the living legend and childhood idol he was never able to outgrow (embarrassingly, even at 31 years old) but at this point Yuuri attributes most things he sees to the delusions of alcohol so he is bothered neither by his own disheveled appearance or the Victor-like presence standing before him. 

Victor-of-his-delusions looks damn fine for 35, even better than the real Victor he sees in the Aeroflot commercials on YouTube. Meeting his eyes is like wading in a body of water, water, everywhere, and not a drop quenches Yuuri's thirst.

Had it been the real Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri doesn't know where he, a run-of-the-mill figure skater who retired at age 23 with no titles to his name, would find the courage to say anything to him, but since it's Victor-of-his-delusions, Yuuri figures if he's going to be sad and drunk and still pining he should at least enjoy himself a little.

"Heeeeeey, Victor!" he greets. As he tumbles enthusiastically towards him, he trips over his own feet and ends up slumped against Victor, who catches him by the waist. "Watchu doing here?"

"I didn't think I would run into a fan out here," Victor-of-his-delusions says, sounding genuinely taken-aback but nevertheless pleased. He turns a smile down to Yuuri. "I'm taking refuge from the snow for a bit, so I thought I would try out the hot springs."

"Our hot springs are the best!" Yuuri says, thrusting a finger up in the air, nearly jamming it up Victor's left nostril. Victor-of-his-delusions rears his head back in time to save himself. "Number one!"

"Yeah, it was my first time, an—" Victor begins, but Yuuri remembers more pressing matters:

"Victor!" He grasps both of Victor's hands in his own. "Have you eaten? We can't let you go hungry. You're practically a living national treasure! This could be an international accident. We'll get shut down. We can't get shut down—we're the last one left in Hasetsu! Hasetsu number one!" His finger is in the air again, only this time Victor, whom he drags behind him, is safe from impalement.

Victor-of-his-delusions laughs, a small burst bubbling past his lips before he breaks out in rhythmic chuckles. Yuuri doesn't really know what's so funny, but it is hard to care when Victor's laughter loops in his mind like an endless run of chord progressions. Simple, crisp, piano music that motivates an intricate step sequence scraping the ice, accelerating towards a swelling diapason and Victor's effortless, perfect quad flip.

"Your quad flip," Yuuri says. He stops and whips around so fast that Victor bumps into him. Before Victor can pull away, though, Yuuri throws his arms around him and looks up at him with his biggest, sparkliest puppy dog eyes. In the back of his mind, he realizes that he may still be moving his lower half to the rhythm of Victor's laughter as he plasters himself a little too intimately against Victor. "You can still do it, right? If you like our katsudon, please show me your quad flip. I've always wanted to see it up close. Show me your quad flip, Victorrrrr!" This last bit he sing-songs because everything in this dream feels so good. The press of Victor's body to his feels so good.

Victor-of-his-delusions raises his eyebrows and doesn't say anything for the longest time. For a terrible moment, Yuuri fears that he has made Victor mad. Even if it's the Victor that his own drunken mind has conjured, Yuuri doesn't want to be the one to make Victor mad. He has only ever wanted to see Victor smile and skate.

But then the heart-shaped grin is back on Victor's face while his eyes widen, as in some form of epiphany, a soft sigh escaping from someplace warm and tickling the tip of Yuuri's nose in a gentle huff. He cups Yuuri's cheeks in his hands. 

"One order of katsudon, please!"

 

He knows this is a dream. He knows because he is skating alongside Victor at a Grand Prix Final exhibition to "Stammi Vicino." He wears Victor's costume in cobalt, and when Victor appears by his side his world fills with the color of Victor, gentle magenta warming the cool cobalt that bathed his skin. Victor lifts him towards the sky, effortlessly, as if he has always known the weight of Yuuri in his arms, before laying Yuuri back into a tilt and gazing into his eyes with a soft, kind passion that Yuri isn't sure where his subconscious had learned to know. Yuuri reaches for Victor's face with one hand, as if daring to believe the reality of skating with a flesh-and-bones Victor Nikiforov.

But before Yuuri's fingertips can touch Victor's skin, Victor slaps Yuuri across the cheek.

_Little piggy._

Yuuri slants a betrayed look at Victor while carrying on with the program, preparing for Victor to lift him again. Only Victor isn't behind him. Yuuri is alone on the ice. The cheering crowd is gone. The music fades. This is Ice Castle Hasetsu.

_My little piggy._

Yuuri collapses to the ice. He isn't even wearing skates.

_Little piggy katsudon._

A hand meets his face again, but this time it is more of a mild pat. Yuuri wrenches his eyes open to see Victor's face hanging above his. This must still be part of the dream. 

He closes his eyes and tries again.

Nope, still Victor. 

He closes his eyes aga—

"Only Aeroflot has kept me waiting for as long as you have," says a voice that most definitely belongs to Victor Nikiforov.

Yuuri snaps up in bed, then pulls the sheets high up to his neck when he realizes that he is wearing only his underwear.

"Y-you…" Yuuri stammers. "Are you—are you real?"

He feels an instant blush paint his face the moment the words leave his stupid, stupid mouth. The way Victor blinks at him like he is the dumbest dumb to have ever dumbed doesn't help any. Victor bends down so that they're almost nose to nose. "Yes, and you better not forget your drunken request this time," he says.

"Wait—what?" Yuuri frowns. What is Victor even talking about? Did it actually not make sense or did it not make sense only because nothing made sense in Yuuri's pounding head?

"Put on your clothes and show me the way to the rink," Victor says, standing up full-right. "I need time to warm-up."

"Oh," Yuuri says. He will accept all of this now and process it a different time, he decides. In the meantime, he can at least honor Victor's request to be brought to the ice rink because that Yuuri can comprehend that. Victor. Skating.

 

"Victor Nikiforov!" the triplets shriek in unison when the automatic doors to the Ice Castle open in front of Yuuri and Victor. The girls barrel toward them like a raging tornado with Victor at the center of it.

"You don't look like you're 35 at all!"

"Celebrity powers?"

"Or make-up!"

"Will you take a picture with us?"

"Can we post it online?"

"Why are you with Yuuri?"

"Why does Yuuri look and smell horrible?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in Fukuoka choreographing for Minami-san?"

"Can you do our choreo—"

"Haha, okay okay, let's give Victor some space," Yuuri says, breaking up their circle. He feels 0% of the chill he attempts to exude. Meanwhile, Victor looks as calm as the eye of the storm.

"Maybe after I'm done with this one," Victor says, charming smile as radiant as ever.

"Yuuri! He said!" The triplets look to Yuuri collectively, their faces sparkling like round brilliant-cut diamonds.

"You know we could never afford him," Yuuri chides in a hush, pushing them along towards the bleachers. "Come on, he says he's going to do some warm-ups here. Let's go sit and watch."

"You're not going to skate?" Victor asks. "I thought you wanted me to show you the quad flip."

"Yuuri, that's not fair!" Axel puts a hand on her hip. "We want to learn from Victor too!"

"Oh, no, I—" Yuuri racks his brain frantically for when he obtained the seventy pairs of balls he would have needed to say something like that. Was it last night? He wishes he could remember more than his dad's best friend from high school pushing endless rounds of shochu at him. "I don't skate anymore. I couldn't if I tried."

"That's a lie," Lutz says before turning to Victor. "Yuuri is your biggest fan! He's been practicing _forever_ on his quad flips when he thinks no one's watching because he's always wanted to make it look like yours."

Victor taps his chin thoughtfully, eyes fixed on Yuuri. "Yes, explains the posters…" His face remains perfectly unreadable despite the smile curled comfortably around his lips. Yuuri is going to strangle the triplets now and apologize to Yuuko later.

Loop has her phone in her hand, and Yuuri knows for a fact that whatever she has to show Victor will be the end of him. He tries to reach across Lutz and Axel to stop her, but the phone is already in front of Victor's face. He doesn't even know what she is going to show him but he knows his life is officially over.

"His favorite is your last free skate," Loop says, tapping the center of the screen. "He did a complete copy of it the season that he came home all defeated and depressed. We wanted to post this but Mom caught us before it finished uploading."

The girls sigh tragically, sounding not an ounce like they were any bit in the wrong for trying to share Yuuri's life and obsession without permission eight years ago and again now _in front of Victor in person_.

When the whoosh of skates on ice begin to sound through the speakers of the phone, Yuuri jumps out in front of Victor and tries to snatch the phone from Loop's hand—but Victor is faster. He spins away from Yuuri and sits down on the bleacher, body curled around the phone as if he were defending it with his life. Yuuri cannot stand to look at Victor's face as he watches the video so he casts his eyes down at the black plastic mat on the floor. He doesn't even have it in him to yell at the triplets. It's his own fault for not destroying the evidence. He has only himself to blame. He knows. He _knows_. It's stupid. It's so stupid that he did this in the first place, to try to regain love for his own skating, to remember what he had spend more than half his life chasing after, because it's a delayed race of parallel lines with no hope of intersecting. It's bitterly ironic that Victor would be here now, offering to skate on the same ice with him now, eight years after he has retired, because apparently his family's hot springs and Minami-kun is more likely to bring Victor closer to him than he ever could with his own skating and he just—really, really wants to be alone right now.

As he begins to sulk towards the door, he hears Yuuko squeal in the video, "A perfect copy of Victor's program! This is too cool!!!" and the sudden shuffle of linen as Victor stands to grab at Yuuri's arm. The too-firm grip makes Yuuri turn around.

Something in Victor's eyes trembles and unfurls and spills open so explosively, so organically, that Yuuri doesn't think he will ever know a more flagless piracy. Victor reaches for his chin and pulls his face close.

"Skate for me," he says, with uncharacteristic urgency. His words drift between them like a floating smoke signal, even though Yuuri is the one drowning in the shipwreck.

 

Yuuri sleeps not a wink that night.

Victor had hopped on the train at midday for Fukuoka, leaving Yuuri with the most ridiculous offer that he definitely should not be entertaining at all. It should not be swimming laps around his mind, stirring up turbulent waves with its dramatic butterfly arms.

_Skate for me._

As if those words alone didn't leave Yuuri unsteady in the knees like a baby bird, Victor had corrected himself on a second thought: "Skate _with_ me."

And Yuuri doesn't even know what that means other than the very literal meaning of the two of them skating concurrently on the ice together. But in what context? How together? As friends who happen to share the same hobby? Surely Victor knows people who live much closer for that (his former rinkmate and three-time World Champion Yuri Plisetsky comes to mind, for one).

"I'm 31," Yuri had pointed out.

"I'm 35," Victor returned. Then with a petulant sigh: "Which all of you have assured me you know plenty well."

"I haven't skated for eight years," Yuri said.

Victor had thrown a pointed look towards the triplets like _that's not what they told me_. "I'm not asking you to compete."

"I don't know what you want from me," Yuri mumbled, frustration threatening to reach a high-water point.

Victor brushed Yuuri's bangs back with a gloved finger and smiled. "Soon, zvezda moya. Soon," he whispered with an undulance so comforting that he almost had Yuuri lulled into a false sense of security. "Just think about it."

So now, as Yuuri lies on his back studying the ceiling, he thinks about it. Really, he just loops the conversation in his head in hopes of finding hints regarding what he should be thinking about because he knows the obvious answer is no. He is a coach now, the triplets will be rising up to seniors soon, it's a critical time for them, he feels like he's not competent enough for them often enough that he doesn't need any more distractions, especially fruitless, futile ones like this that will only bring about the foul dust to the life he only recently managed to tidy up a little.

But at the same time, despite all logic and sensibility, he doesn't want to say no to Victor. He doesn't want to say no to the man he has admired and never forgotten who is now offering him his lifetime dream on a gold platter. He just doesn't want to say no.

He wishes Victor had approached him eight years ago with the same offer. But then again, there are certainly more realities in which things don't happen at the right time than there are ones in which they do, and that is just a matter of probability.

More than anything, he wishes he had had the strength and skill to share the ice with Victor back in the day without relying on the universe's numbers game.

 

He must have fallen asleep at some point during early morning because he wakes up to the sun stabbing his eyes with gold arrows. He wants nothing more than to throw the comforter over his face and huddle in bed all day, but he needs to make up for lost time with the triplets on their choreography.

He hadn't notice his phone dying on his nightstand. Twenty messages from Phichit await him when he plugs it in again.

_Yuuri!!!!!!!!_

_Yuuri!!!_

_Victor Nikiforov is in Hasetsu!!!!!!!!!!_

_Did!!!!!!_

_You!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Meet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

A screenshot of Victor's Instagram update is attached. #HasetsuCastle #ninja

_Omggggggg if you tell me you didn't even catch a glimpse of him I'm going to dieeeeeeeeeeee_

_But then if you tell me you got a pic with him I'm going to die even moreeeeeeee_

_Yuri pls respond asap_

_This is so urgent_

_Actually_

_OMG_

_Did he stay in your inn because that's like the only one with a spa omggggg DID HE DID HE DID HE PLS GO CHECK_

_If he in hot spring pls send booty pics kplsthx_

And then timestamped twenty minutes later:

_DAMMIT YURI_

pls slap urself silly if u missed him bc u were working your dad's banquet ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

jk I love you

but pls I'M DYING HERE YOU NEED TO LET ME LIVE VICARIOUSLY

Yuuri rolls his eyes but smiles to himself. Only if Phichit knew the extent of how much he had met Victor and how their two-hour interaction had propelled him into contemplation of alternate realities and a general fit of existential crisis.

**Yes, he stayed at our inn**

**And yes, I--**

Yuuri begins to type but Phichit texts back right away

_OMGGGGGGI KNEWWW ITTTTTTT_

_BOOTYBOOTYBOOTYBOOTYBOOTYBOOTYBOOYBOOTYBOOTYBOOTYBOOTY_

Yuuri shakes his head and hits the call button, putting the phone on speaker while he makes rounds getting dressed.

"—ooty booty booty booty—" is what Phichit greets him with the moment the call connects, and Yuuri has no choice but to laugh. Instantly, he feels some pressure alleviated from his chest.

"Phichit," he says. "Why. Why are we adults that are still not over Victor Nikiforov's butt."

"Age is no remedy for thirst," Phichit says.

"Well, I would deal you some booty pills but unfortunately I think I missed him going into the bath," Yuuri says, "so I couldn't even if I felt like neglecting our very strict privacy policies."

"Damn," Phichit mourns but picks himself up the next second: "So? Is he everything you've ever fantasized of?"

"You've met him before! When he did commentary for the GPF that one year, remember?"

"Ha! Like five years ago," Phichit says. "Besides, I'm asking _you_."

Yuuri bites his lip. He thinks of the oceans in Victor's eyes, the earthy tones of his whispers, the way he sailed for the sky in his quad flip, the ripple of his laughter, the way his every word caught Yuuri in a net and left him floundering. 

Wait—when did he ever hear Victor laugh?

"Yeah," Yuuri admits quietly. "He was. He's perfect."

Phichit lets out a squeal of delight. "You talked to him, right? Got his number?"

"Well…" Yuuri considers and this doesn't seem to be at all what Phichit was expecting because Yuuri hears a gasp that must have filled him up like a helium balloon shooting straight up.

"Yuuriiiiiiiiii! You asked for his number? I'm so proud of you!"

"No, no, it's not like that," Yuuri says, grabbing his phone and heading towards the bathroom to wash up. Around a mouthful of toothpaste foam he explains the gist of the situation as best as he understands (which, honestly, is not that well) and hopes that maybe Phichit can offer more insight than his own mind can supply.

"Wait soooooo, what's wrong?" Phichit says after Yuuri finishes with a lame "So yeah, that's the problem."

"Phichit! Were you looking at Instagram the whole time," Yuuri accuses.

"No, I was listening, I swear! I just—" Yuuri can imagine Phichit cocking his head to one side. "I don't see a problem? I mean, Victor asked you to skate with him. You love Victor. You love skating. And he's in the area. So…?"

"But I don't do that anymore and I was never anywhere close to Victor's level and the triplets! They're moving into Seniors next year! I need to finish their choreography for this season and maybe think about finding them a real coach for their Senior debut and Minako-sensei opens her ballet studio less now after she hurt her back and—"

"What do you mean a real coach?" Phichit sounds almost…offended. "You're their coach!"

"Yeah, but I have no coaching experience and can't tell them anything about succeeding on the international stage."

"They wouldn't have anyone else." He sighs. "Yuuri, I love you, but sometimes I think you try to do all by yourself the things you should depend on others for but then for some reason don't let yourself do the things you should trust yourself to do."

Yuuri chews this over in lieu of breakfast as he finishes tying up his sneakers at the door. He has heard some variation of this so many times over the past decade of his life that he knows this is probably true.

"Just—don't think too much of it. Do it in place of your secret midnight training. Enjoy yourself a little. I know you won't let a little fun interfere with your coaching. You care too much about the girls for that. Besides, it's not as if Victor is going to hang out in Japan forever."

Phichit is right. Of course he's right. Yuuri doesn't remember ever winning in the face of Phichit's optimism. Or his opportunism.

"Yeah," Yuuri says. "Thank you."

"Of course!" Phichit says. "And if in the course of skating together you guys happen to get a bit naked, you know what I want for your token of gratitude."

Yuuri laughs. "You have a husband and child, Phichit."

"Remember, the only remedy for the thirst is…"

"Gotta go to practice!" Yuuri says.

"And I suppose I have an ice show to work on," Phichit concedes. "Yuuri, ganba."

"Chok dee krap," Yuuri says before tucking the phone into his back pocket.

When he stands, he rises against the unchanging landscape with which he shared his childhood, the landscape he finds more familiar than the contours of his own face. Looking too far into the distance is a weird thing: you can only see so far before you hit the horizon and everything beyond that line is invisible. There's only the sky. Nothing but blue, sky blue. It gets very abstract very fast and Yuuri often finds himself looking back.

It is less frightening to be uncharted than to know for sure there are no more buried treasures within yourself. But maybe Victor can be his map and give Yuuri the courage to venture out to sea again because if they lose their bearings at least they are lost together. 

Or maybe, they really will just skate together for an afternoon to satisfy Victor's eccentric impulse and Yuuri will get a picture and autograph and that will be good enough. 

After all, Yuuri isn't even sure Victor knows his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the humble beginnings of this story! I have the next couple of parts written but in the interest of being able to update at least once a week I'm going to space them out a bit. I'm beyond excited for Yurio to make his appearance (ó㉨ò)ﾉ♡
> 
> zvezda moya = my star  
> ganba = shortened "ganbatte" for "good luck"  
> chok dee krap = good luck
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Come talk to me at my [tumblr](http://makichaaan.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Yurio appears.

After four long days of restless waiting, Thursday afternoon rewards Yuuri with a Russian visitor. It's not exactly the one that he was hoping for, but he could have done worse.

"Where's Victor!!!" Yuri Plisetsky demands after nearly ripping the sliding door off its track.

He is every bit as delightfully grumpy and enthrallingly beautiful as he looks on TV. He also stares Yuuri down with the same expression as he did the one other time they interacted eight years ago—like he's staring down trash. It is more intimidating because Yuri is now an entire head taller, but this time he doesn't catch Yuuri in an emotional mess, so Yuuri barely cowers. 

"Fukuoka?" he suggests.

"Liar," Yuri growls, thrusting his phone in Yuuri's face. "He posted this picture this morning."

"Huh." Yuuri stares at a selfie of Victor with his shoulders leaned back against the stone ledge of the outdoors bath. #tadaimaHasetsu #Japaneseonsen #kimochiii "Someone needs to tell him about the no photography policy."

"Ohhhh, what pretty blond hair!" Hiroko coos, running up with her cheeks cupped between her hands. Yuuri swears she sees heart beams shooting from her eyes.

"Mom, has a tall foreigner with silver hair been by?" Yuuri asks.

"You mean Vicchan?" Hiroko says. Her heart-eyes pump at the mention of his name. "Yuuko-chan brought him by this morning! He was looking for you, but when I told him you were working, he said he didn't want to interrupt and just sat down to have some katsudon with me. He was the most charming, lovely gentleman. That's a gift from him!" She gestures to an expensive-looking bottle of gold-label champagne sitting amidst their collection of brown sake bottles.

Yuuri's chest starts to pound like a prisoner demanding freedom. Was he nervous about what Victor had heard about him? Maybe. But as a pool of warmth spreads over his torso, he realizes that he's _pleased_ , flattered that Victor wants to know about him.

"Where is he?" he and Yuri ask in unison.

"He said he'd be waiting for you at the rink, Yuuri," Hiroko says.

"Tell Dad that I'm going to take off for practice early," Yuuri says to his mom. Then, turning to Yuri: "Come on, follow me."

He almost expects a huffy "Don't tell me what to do," but even if a scowl remains carved deep on his face, Yuri only nods and turns on his heel after mumbling a quiet "thank you" at Hiroko.

When the two of them arrive at the Ice Castle, they find Victor and the triplets on the ice doing spirals together like it's the most natural thing. Yuuri's stomach clenches briefly, but before he has the time to figure out why, Yuri starts screaming angry Russian next to his ear.

Victor stops to offer a friendly wave while the girls fly across the ice squealing Yuri's name.

"Meet Axel, Lutz, and Loop," Victor introduces, as if they were his girls. "Yuuri is going to coach them into this year's medalists at the Junior Grand Prix."

 _So he_ does _know my name_ , Yuuri notes.

"There's two clones of that Japanese girl from the Finals last year," Yuri says, frowning down at them.

"That her!" Lutz and Loop point at Axel, who strikes a pose and says, "But we're all going to be there this year, so be on the lookout for us!"

Yuri looks unimpressed. "What does this have to do with you?" he asks Victor.

"I thought that if I helped Yuuri and his students reach their goals, he would help me with mine," Victor says.

"Which is?" Yuri prods impatiently.

"Skating with him!" Victor announces.

"Uhhhh." Yuuri stares blankly back at Yuri who is again casting him his why-hasn't-anyone-slamdunked-this-garbage glare. "I…didn't know about this."

"What about me?!" Yuri demands, whipping back to face Victor.

"Oh, did I promise you something?" Victor presses a finger to his lips, eyes wide and innocent.

"You said!" Yuri's hands form fists at his sides. "That you would choreograph your best piece for me if I topped your stupid total score at World!"

Victor takes his sweet time gliding towards them. "That does sound like something I would say," he considers. "But you see, I'm having fun with Yuuri and these girls right now."

"You _promised_ me," Yuri grits. Yuuri worries that if Victor keeps teasing him like this, Yuri's brains are going to explode from his ears. "What are you doing choreographing for a round-bellied small-town _coach_? I doubt he can even properly land a jump with all that meat on him." Yuuri winces, pulling at the brim of his coat. "I could do so much better. I could make the program legendary."

Yuuri knows that that's not even young bravado talking, but that Yuri genuinely has the skills and competitive record to be able to say that much with confidence. He is the rightful successor to Victor's long reign over the figure skating world, after all. It would be much more productive for Victor to be working with people like Yuri Plisetsky and than to squander his time with Yuuri, who is really just a middle-aged joe at this point.

And yet...

This selfish, greedy part of his soul that he imagines must be all black and green and crusty stirs within him and wants nothing more than to just keep Victor around, spend time with him, know all the intimate parts of him hidden from the public eye. Maybe if he were still a competitor he could have proven to the world through his skating that he isn't just wasting Victor's time, but with that out of the question, he is fully aware that he would only be holding Victor back, especially because, as Yuri points out next:

"I can shut everyone up about the shit they've been saying about you as a coach and choreographer! You don't deserve any of that bullshit press, Victor."

Victor holds up a hand to silence Yuri from saying more. He is wearing a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Yuuri has read the articles in question. Especially over the past few years, there's been a lot of talk about how Victor has given up cultivating the next generation of figure skaters after sending a great number of them to the podium in his first few years. He has also been slowly cutting down on the choreography work he does without proper explanation of why beyond a few sketchy, elusive answers he's put out when cornered by interviewers. As a result, headlines to the effect of "Have the creative juices of figure skating legend Victor Nikiforov finally dried?!" and "Living legend Victor Nikiforov: Ready for complete withdraw from figure skating!?" hit the centerfold of sports papers at least once every season. People have pointed out in multiple media that he could very well live the rest of his life comfortably on various royalties alone, which Yuuri can easily imagine to be true, but he can't picture what Victor without skating would even be. 

There must be more to the story, and what Yuri is saying now is that by winning on the international stage with Victor's choreography and coaching, he can help clear Victor's public image and at least get pesky reporters off his back until he is ready to share his true feelings about his current relationship with skating. It's a win-win-win for Yuri, Victor, and the legacy of their skating.

"Maybe he's right—" Yuuri begins to say.

"I have an idea," Victor interrupts, clapping his hands together. "I've been working on two short programs on the theme of love, based on separate arrangements of the same song. In a week we'll perform and let Yuuri be the judge of the winner."

"'We' as in you and me," Yuri parrots incredulously to which Victor nods. "I am in peak competitive condition, and you're like, 7000 years old."

"Thirty-five," Victor corrects quickly. "Yuuri, tell him."

"Victor, that doesn't sound like a great idea," Yuuri says.

Victor frowns. "No, dear, tell him about the 35."

"Whatever," Yuri says. "If you want to waste a week preparing for a competition that you're bound to lose because you're ancient as a dinosaur and your _judge_ "—he waves a hand at Yuuri—"thinks you're better off with me anyway, that's up to you. But I'm going back to Russia with you and a new short program."

"And if you lose?"

Yuri throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly. "I don't know! Let you waste your life away here with fatso and his three musketeers?" he shouts as he stomps toward the automatic door. He halts in his step once it opens in front of him and glowers at Yuuri. "Hey you, show me where I'm staying."

Yuuri sends the triplets an apologetic look, grieving the lack of productivity in the rink recently. 

If Victor was swept in by a storm, Yuri brings about another of his own.

With love, from Russia.

 

(The triplets are pleading Yuuri to let them organize the competition into an event just as Yuuko walks by. Yuuko dashes over and bops them over the head one by one.

"School?!" She puts her hands on her hips and juts out her neck like a deranged ostrich. "What is school!?"

The girls exchange pouts but scramble off without another word.

Yuuko's sweet smile finds its way back on her face as she claps Yuuri on the back. "I'm always on your side," she assures with a victorious peace sign.

Yuuri returns her smile, relieved for her composure in spite of everything.

But then as she prances away she catches sight of Victor doing a sit spin with her triplets and promptly begins to spazz, all but fainting in the arms of an unwitting Yuri. Yuuri takes three steps back.)

 

Despite that Yuri is a pain in the ass at the inn with his constant demands for food and private shower, he and Victor use the rink mainly when the triplets are at school, so in that respect they're not disrupting practice any more than they already have. On the other hand, it's hard to convince the triplets to focus when the former and current top of the figure skating world are chatting rinkside.

"Hey, can you two move somewhere else?" Yuuri asks, waving his arms to get their attention.

"But I want to watch you coach, Yuuri!" Victor says.

"I'm comfy here," Yuri says.

Yuuri sighs, resigned. "If you insist on being here, can you each take one of the girls and work on their step sequence with them?"

"Ohhh, that sounds fun," Victor says excitedly, hugging the poodle-shaped tissue holder he's been carrying around. Vaguely, Yuuri wonders where Victor left his actual poodle.

Yuri shrugs and starts to shed his skate guards.

Lutz squeals excitedly. "So who's with who?" She puts a finger on her nose. "Nose goes!"

Axel follows suit, Loop a second later.

"Sorry, kiddo," Yuuri says. "Guess you're stuck with me."

Loop, to his surprise, just tilts her head. "Okay," she agrees nonchalantly.

"Oh," Yuuri says, thrown. "Well, off the two of you go, then." As Axel and Lutz race each other to where Victor and Yuri enter the ice, Yuuri turns back to Loop. "You sure you're okay? I'll at least hear out some grumbles, and maybe you girls can even rotate after a bit."

It's not every day that you get to watch and work with world record-setters. Even Yuuri sometimes catches himself frozen just watching them skate, as if hypnotized by every push and pull of their blades on the ice.

"But I like working with you, Yuuri. That's why you're my coach," Loop says, still staring at him like she doesn't understand what the fuss is all about. "I mean, they're obviously amazing skaters, but I don't think you lose to either of them as a coach."

Yuuri wants to take her in his arms and squeeze the life out of her. He thinks his eyes might even feel prickly behind his glasses, but that might just be his age loosening up the lacrimal glands.

"Thanks," he says softly. "Proud to be with you all."

Having apparently topped off her sentimentality quota for the hour, Loop rolls her eyes and starts to do backwards crossovers away from him. "Say that again when we finish 1-2-3 at the Finals!"

"As many time as you want," Yuuri promises, skating a semi-circle around her.

 

Throughout the week Yuuri doesn't see much of the programs that Victor and Yuri are practicing. Part of it is because his work at the inn conflicts with their rink time, but he also figures that he should try to remain impartial as the judge despite knowing that even if Yuri falls on his face and never gets back up, he should still send Victor home with him.

On the last day before the grand showdown, Yuuri arrives at the rink with the triplets to find that Victor has yet to finish working through his program. Together, the four of them watch him run through the last thirty seconds of his program before applauding.

Victor exits the rink, one hand raised in apology. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

The triplets are gushing on and on about how they can't wait to see the whole thing tomorrow as Yuuri corrals them onto the ice to start their warm-ups. He hangs back, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. He checks the number. Unknown. He turns off his phone quickly, afraid that someone is going to see, and slides it back into his pocket.

When he peers back up, he sees Victor staring out at the ice. His eyes look strangely alive, in an almost manic way.

"Hey, are you okay?" Yuuri asks, approaching him.

"Yeah," Victor says, face softening into a smile. "Why?"

"Just asking," Yuuri says, feeling like he shouldn't push the point. He redirects the conversation. "Did you ever say what you were originally preparing these programs for?"

Pausing in unlacing his skates, Victor leans his elbows on his thighs. He makes a thoughtful sound. "A personal project, I guess?"

"Oh," Yuuri says. What does _that_ mean? "Do you know how Yurio's been doing? Every time I ask he just sends me off with food orders."

Victor laughs. "He's so upset that everyone started calling him that because of your sister," he says. "But I think he's doing well. He said he had a clear image from the very beginning."

"Oh yeah?" Yuuri has heard that the theme of Victor's program is eros, which he probably has more nights of material to draw from than Yuuri really wants to imagine, but Yuuri wouldn't exactly describe what little he knows about Yuri as being very agape. "Why was he asking around about where he can find a waterfall?"

"I just wanted him to try something Japanese, and he took it as skating advice," Victor says.

"And you didn't want to correct him." Yuuri shakes his head, feeling sorry for Yuri.

Victor shrugs lightly, carrying no remorse in his shoulders "He deserves a break from things," he says, standing up next to Yuuri. "He's been trying to lose himself on the ice since his grandfather passed last spring. He was the biggest supporter of Yuri's skating, and Yuri took it pretty hard when it happened."

Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek. He had no idea. He would have never known from watching Yuri bounce around grumping at everyone with such vigor. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

Victor nods. "Well, 'took it pretty hard' as in 'took gold and broke my World Champions record.'"

"He's strong," Yuuri says.

"He is," Victor agrees. "And he knows how to refocus his frustration and sadness toward motivation, but there's only so long you can run on hot air."

Yuuri studies Victor out of the corner of his eyes. "Did you suggest this whole thing"—he gestures at the ice—"as a way to help Yurio?"

Victor doesn't say anything for a long time, eyes locked on the white patterns that form on the ice like airplane lines. When Victor finally turns to face Yuuri, he lifts a hand and ruffles his hair playfully. Heart-shaped grin hanging too wide on his face, Victor says, "You say such silly things, Yuuri."

 _Do I?_ Yuuri wonders.

But he doesn't wander where he is not welcome.

 

Through the grapevine (i.e. someone's Twitter, probably), word of Victor and Yuri performing at the Ice Castle has spread across town. More people show up at the rink than Yuuri has seen in the past year added together. As the crowd pushes through the doors, he pulls Yuuko aside and begs her to make an announcement about how this is just an exhibition ("Maybe for charity? We can donate to a charity, right?") because he doesn't think he can bear to stand up in front of all these people and assign a rank to possibly the two top skaters in the history of the sport he just can't he'll faint they'll all throw things at him because who is _he_ to judge _them_ this was all such a horrible idea oh no this isn't happening oh no no no—

After calming the run-ons out of him, Yuuko writes down a few lines on a piece of paper and hands it to one of the rink staff who runs back stage to make the announcement. Yuuri thanks her profusely before remembering that he needs to relay this last-minute change to the competitors.

They are being interviewed in spotty English by a local news program, so Yuuri waits his turn. As soon as the cameras leave to set up rinkside, he informs them of the change in a whisper, whilst making an apologize every other sentence.

Yuri just shrugs. "As long as you decide on a winner at some point."

"Yurio just doesn't want to lose in front of the great people of Hasetsu." Victor beams, fanning himself with a Hasetsu character fan.

"Speak for yourself, old geezer," Yuri sneers.

Victor pouts. "Yuuri, tell him!"

"Victor Nikiforov is only 35 years young, which is the new 25, and all his hair follicles are in good shape, so please lay off on any name-calling related to his age," Yuuri recites obediently.

Yuri snorts. "When did he shove that down your throat?"

"I don't know," Yuuri says, feigning innocent. "Maybe he's been playing it to me in my sleep like a hypnosis tape." 

Victor gasps. "Stop making me sound creepy!"

"Whatever," Yuri says with a roll of his eyes as he begins to walk toward the ice. "I'm starting soon so sit your asses down and watch carefully."

"Yurio, _davai_!" Victor and Yuuri cheer, but Yuri doesn't even glance back.

He has one foot on the ice, head down, and takes a deep breath before slipping off his coat and gliding on.

"That's one of your costumes, Victor," Yuuri says breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off Yuri, who arrives at center ice as if he has just descended from the heavens on his tiny albatross wings, halo nestled in his lambent gold hair.

His ephemeral beauty elicits soft gasps from the crowd. Yuuri realizes only then how many of spectators today are holding banners for Yuri and how relatively few there are for Victor. In his steadfast adoration of Victor, he hadn't realized how far the rest of the world had moved on from him in the last eight years.

The stadium has fallen still in silence. 

As Yuri raises his arm to the opening notes of the song, the sequins focus every streak of light on his long, lanky body, which bends so smoothly to each step he takes that he looks like a true angel: a spirit of the heavens, with no flesh and bones of his own. When he rises for his first jump, he flies through the clouds, with one arm lifted as if reaching for greater heights beyond. 

His wings sprout as modest little stubs with short feathers carrying him around the rink in small circles as he flies about protecting and providing and answering to the prayers of believers until he spots one soul, on the verge of parting with his body. Yuri spreads his arms, skipping forth on his toes before leaping into a quad Salchow-triple toe loop toward the dying man. He strokes the cheek of the man, soothing him into a peaceful rest, persuading his soul into his welcoming arms before taking flight towards the heavens in a series of jumps, each higher and higher than the last as he spreads his growing wings broader and broader. Before he descends into his sit spin, sending the man's soul into the bosom of God in a wild tornado of memories of his long, well-fulfilled life, he flings his body back into an arch twice, with such anguish that Yuuri sees not the angel that dances among the clouds but a young boy—a mere mortal, crying to the sky.

In the whispering final notes of the song, Yuri raises his arms in prayer, and Yuuri stops thinking about who he is anymore and just jumps to his feet in applause. A beautiful, technically perfect performance. He would have expected nothing less. 

"Yurio!" he cheers.

When Yuri skates back to the door of the rink, he appears dazed, eyes unfocused beyond Yuuri's shoulder, and very, very young.

"You were amazing," Yuuri tells him.

Yuri blinks a few times and, to Yuuri's surprise, smiles softly. "Thanks," he mumbles.

"Our world champion!" Victor says proudly, eyes flashing.

When Yuuri looks at Victor looking at Yuri, he feels as if someone is reaching into his core and squishing his heart like a raw tomato—but he gets it now, what he felt first watching the triplets skate with Victor. He wants to be out there. With Victor, with Yuri, with them both. He should be in line to skate, to show them what he's worth, instead of sitting out on the sidelines, a mere witness to their test of strength. Skating has always been like a best friend to him. He would turn to it when he's anxious, feeling down, feeling lost in the world. He would turn to it before turning to anyone else. Despite all his insecurities, skating remains the single thing in which he holds the most pride and he thinks that Victor and Yuri must feel the same way. He would have liked to introduce his skating to them.

He wants to skate.

He wants to skate with Victor.

He wants to share the most precious part of himself with Victor and for that to be their common language.

It is a feeling that he has kept suppressed for so long behind the _can't do_ s and _not good enough_ s that when he lifts the dam, everything leaves him in an influx so powerful that the force of it propels him forward, catching Victor around the waist just as he drops his coat onto the bleachers.

"Victor," Yuuri says into Victor's back, pressing his cheek against the mesh of the dark costume. He feels Victor tense briefly in surprise before relaxing into his hold. Being hidden from the majority of the crowd behind a large poster and also out of Victor's sight gives Yuuri a false sense of privacy that emboldens him. "I don't want you to think about anyone else. Please think of enticing only me."

"What should I do to entice you, Yuuri?" Victor cups one of Yuuri's hands in his own. His palms are warm through the thin, silky glove.

"I—" Yuuri's mind blanks. He had planned for none of this, and now that Victor is asking, he spits out the first thing that comes to mind: "Become the tastiest katsudon I've ever laid eyes on."

Victor's shoulders shake at first with silent laughter, and then it explodes in volume until Yuuri is sure it reaches the top level of the bleachers. Yuuri is mortified beyond belief at what he allowed to leave his mouth. He must sound like he is virgin level 2309832984.

"Well," Victor says, twisting around to meet Yuuri in the eyes. _Water, water, everywhere_ —but right now, Yuuri isn't thirsty. Hot, primal hungry rumbles from the pit of his stomach as Victor thumbs at his lips. "I do love katsudon a lot."

The touch leaves Yuuri hyper aware of Victor's mouth when he begins his program. As if reading his mind, Victor throws him a heavily-lidded look and licks those soft, pink lips. Yuuri stands in a daze for so long that the first half of Victor's program flies by in bright flashes of metallic spines to every quick twist of Victor's hips and Victor's long limbs opening wide, as if welcoming a lover into the intimate space. The step sequence is extremely elaborate and enthralling, and Yuuri can't help but imagine how he would perform these elements himself.

Victor's body doesn't bend and fold in the same boneless way Yuri's does, but Yuuri doesn't mind a few bones in his katsudon if they're Victor's. Of course, he also knows that Victor doesn't execute the jumps with the same degree of difficulty as Yuri does, but these are the soaring, whirlwind jumps that he has spent more than half of his life imitating and admiring, the same ones that motivated him to get up after every fall until after a while he wasn't falling into the ice but falling in love with the ice.

In a way, though, the performance today almost doesn't look like Victor because the Victor Yuuri knew last is always perfect, always on point, always tight and tall and angled to the tenth of a degree. The raw passion and abandon that Victor invests in this performance reminds Yuuri of a young Victor, long hair whipping behind him as he lets a jump go wild in a way that made Yuuri's breath hitch in his throat.

At the same time that Yuuri loathes to tear his eyes from this creature he recognizes perhaps as well as the skin underneath a scab, another part of him wants to know nothing of Victor skating this program solo because he now yearns to make this program _theirs_.

"I guess I was wrong," Yuri says, startling Yuuri out of his thoughts.

"Huh?" Yuuri rasps, then clears his throat. "About what?"

"He was well on his way to helping himself," Yuri says. He raises his eyebrows long-sufferingly but doesn't seem very upset at all. "Should have known better to try to do charity work for stale pirozhkis like him." He pushes off the half-wall and starts to walk out.

"Where are you going?" Yuuri asks.

"Russia, obviously."

"Your program was really great—"

"I can do much better," Yuri says. "You take care of Victor and tell him I wish the best for his hair follicles."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that," Yuuri says with a chuckle. For how much commotion Yuri stirred up in his entrance, he is choosing a surprisingly discreet exit. Yuuri wonders if Victor would have wanted to say good bye but figures that they will soon see each other in Russia after Victor complete his 'personal project.' "Good luck for the upcoming season, Yurio."

Yuri leaves Yuuri with a simple backwards wave before pushing through the glass doors.

When Yuuri turns his attention back to the rink, he is met with an extremely sulky Victor, whose routine has ended and is now just standing with his hand on his hip, pouting with his entire body.

Yuuri smiles sheepishly and opens his arms in hopes that this is some form of compensation?

He sees Victor heave a reluctant sigh, before picking himself up and gliding over to Yuuri and slotting right into the hug.

"Did you not like my katsudon." His voice is muffled against Yuuri's thick coat, but the sliver of hurt still comes through.

Yuuri shakes his head, hard. "It was very delicious," he says, while having all the regrets about ever mentioning that damn katsudon.

"But you didn't finish it," Victor says.

"I wanted to savor it," Yuuri says. He pushes back from the hug, digging the toe of his right shoe into ground beneath them. "I thought maybe we could enjoy it together."

Victor's eyes blow wide, lighting up like Christmas. "Yeah?"

When Yuuri nods and lifts his head to met Victor's eyes, he feels like an island rising from a dead sea after waiting centuries for the water to recede. 

Crisp air fills his lungs, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he breathes the ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee thank you so much for the comments and kudos, everyone! The comments especially really help motivate me to write and update faster, although I'm honestly just having so much fun working on this in general. I've finished planning for the entire fic and if everything goes according to plan there should be seven parts.
> 
> This chapter I found somewhat difficult because of the performances at the end, but I love Yurio and writing about his skating gave me great joy. This certainly won't be the last we'll hear from him.
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving love! Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the theme of confidence, loneliness, and dogs.

Victor spends the rest of the day happy as a puppy with a treat in his mouth. Given how thrilled he was with Yuuri's decision to take the ice with him, though, Yuuri is a little disappointed by how short he stays on cloud nine.

Over dinner, he had leaned across their katsudon with a squinty-eyed smile and slid the bowl away from Yuuri. Much to Yuuri's dismay, he dropped his cutlet on the table and sputtered indignantly.

"My little piggy," Victor began, and Yuuri's heart dropped.

This is how Yuuri finds himself out jogging along the shore at 5:30am, Victor biking alongside and greeting every person they run into with the most enthusiastic "good morning!" in Japanese. In spite of the burn in his lungs and muscles, Yuuri has to admit that he feels pretty good. He would sometimes still go running on his own, but never for this long and certainly not at this hour. Endorphins pump in his veins, the salty air brushes back his hair, and he can't help but marvel at the vast expanse of water that stretches like a beautifully blue, ever-unfurling rug. The morning sun breaks over the water with the roundness of a yolk.

Yuuri has always found himself with an affinity for water, even when it isn't frozen into ice. Spending almost his entire life by it doesn't make the sea any less bewitching. It's a different feeling when it isn't just water beyond the screen, or something that you see on vacation; it's different when it surrounds you, hugs you so close that you struggle for air.

After Yuuri finishes his Victor-mandated kilometers, they sit with their legs stretched out on the sand, frisky water tickling their toes.

"This reminds me of St. Petersburg," Victor says to the sky, leaned back on his hands.

Yuuri hums.

"The sound of the seagulls brings me home," Victor says.

Yuuri peeks a look at him. "Do you miss home?"

Victor shrugs.

"What would you be doing right now?"

Victor pauses, bopping his head as he counts back the time. "Midnight on a Friday? Probably out." He grins at Yuuri. "Hopefully out."

Something in Yuuri's stomach drops, but then resets when he realizes that even if this means Victor does his share of playing around (unsurprisingly, of course), it kind of sounds like Victor isn't in a stable relationship with anyone. Not that Yuuri thinks he would make a good candidate for that role or that he wants Victor to be forever alone just so that he could continue dreaming of standing the slightest chance. 

"What about you?" Victor asks. "What do you do besides working at the inn and coaching? Do you have hobbies? Who's your best friend? Do you have a lover?"

All of a sudden Victor's face feels too close, and Yuuri scoots back, leaving a dip in the sand the size of his butt between them. Victor fills the gap quickly.

"What about ex-lovers?" His eyes are sparkling like the first rays of day hitting clear waters, melting over the waves. 

Yuuri tries to fight the undertow. He swallows hard. "I—" he begins. He doesn't really. He's been with a couple of people, but those haven't been so much relationships as they were…arrangements. And he couldn't possibly tell Victor about those. Especially since they aren't exactly things of the past, either. "I don't have as many as you do, I'm sure" is what he settles for.

Victor makes an inquisitive sound but doesn't actually press any further, for which Yuuri is grateful. He watches as Victor flops onto his back, hair splaying out on the sand, silver against gold. He extends a hand out in front of him and for an embarrassing moment Yuuri almost reaches for it before realizing that Victor is only blocking the rising sun from his eyes. Being in such close and constant proximity with his long-time idol must be doing horrible things to his sanity.

"It gets lonely being alone," Victor says.

Yuuri wants to ask many things. About his poodle, about his friends, about his love life, about why Victor Nikiforov, the most gorgeous man to ever walk the face of the Earth, should ever be alone.

But he holds his tongue. Because he supposes that as common as he himself is, he could choose to be with someone if he wished, and to be perfectly fair he _isn't_ alone. He lives with his loving family, has supportive friends that always go above and beyond for him, coaches three girls that he knows appreciate him more than his confidence lets him believe—and yet, despite all that he is blessed with, he finds himself feeling more alone than not because, really, it's not even about them. He could have four thousand family members, friends, and students, and he is quite sure he would still feel his way. It's him. He knows it's all him, and how he doesn't let them in because he's so, so afraid of them seeing all the black and green and ugly inside him. 

So he fights on his own, like he has always done. He wonders if Victor, too, is still fighting alone.

 

Even with Yuri gone, Victor continues to sit in on practice with the triplets. Sometimes, Yuuri will ask him to help out with focus training, but most of the time, he just watches. Last week, they spent a lot of time on straightening out landings the girls struggled with and practiced some tricky footwork, but Yuuri can't push off putting together their choreography any longer. Under Victor's watch, Yuuri feels particularly self-conscious.

To make matters worse, Victor approaches Yuuri after the girls leave practice and asks, "Is that how you've always done choreography?"

He doesn't ask this unkindly or carry any ounce of judgment in his voice. In fact, he sounds just genuinely curious, but Yuuri feels like bursting into flames.

"Yeah," he says quickly, messing clumsily with his skate laces, eyes downcast. "I know it's not very coach-like of me, but what is there to do." He chuckles nervously. "I mean honestly, I think they've watched more skating in their lifetime than I have." 

He doesn't mention that this is because whereas the triplets just love skating in general and watch everything from Novice to Juniors to Seniors, both men's and ladies', Yuuri has spent more of his time obsessed with Victor and rewatching and rewinding and emulating Victor's programs that it never left much time for anything other than whatever competition Victor was in.

"I've never been great at coming up with themes and doing choreography," he continues to babble. "I didn't even used to do it for myself when I was competing, so it's more like a round-table when it happens. You must think I'm pretty pathetic, huh."

Victor furrows his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Well, it's not like I have much to offer in terms of being a coach. I'm not perfect on the techniques myself, I don't have much international experience, I'm not a big name with any kind of reputation…"

"Do you think people come to me for my name and reputation?" Again, Victor poses the question with no apparent ulterior motive than to simply inquire for Yuuri's thoughts.

"I don't really know," Yuuri says after some consideration, "but I'd think they probably want some part of you. Not really just your name and reputation, but like—some part of you that can live on inside them. To be able to display that part of you that they find so compelling."

"What would you want from me, if I were your coach?" Victor asks.

If it's anything like the current situation, with Victor attached at his hip day in day out, he thinks _space_ might be what he would need. Not that he doesn't relish in the attention, but because he thinks any more of it will start to give him the wrong ideas. 

"I don't think I'd be looking for the perfect 'coach' coach," Yuuri muses. "I mean, of course you know what it's like to be a winner and you can show them all kinds of technical things and help them strategize for the season and stuff but…I think if you were my coach, I'd just want you to be you."

Yuuri thinks for a moment that maybe it sounds too cheesy and wants to add a "or something like that" but Victor is grinning winningly at him so he just smiles back under the glow.

"I wish I'd been able to coach you," Victor says. "I've been thinking about it for a long time now."

Butterflies flap their soft wings in Yuuri's stomach. He thinks he can take off flying himself, riding on the wind of Victor's words.

Victor throws an arm around Yuuri's shoulder. He feels himself leaning into the touch, just a little, reciting diligently that an arm around the shoulder is a sign of camaraderie. 

Victor leans down to pick up his skates for him. "If it helps any," he says, "I don't think Axel, Loop, and Lutz are looking for the 'perfect' coach in you either. Like you said, they're overflowing with their own ideas from following the sport religiously, but they need someone who knows their skating inside and out to give them structure and motivate them to put all their imagination and passion into a performable program for their level. Besides, I think it's great that they're getting practice choreographing their own programs at this stage." Victor hands Yuuri his skates, the fluorescent lights of the rink waltzing in his eyes. "You're not the perfect coach, but I think you just might be their ideal coach, Yuuri."

 

katsudon-yuri: He told me I was the triplets' ideal coach, Phichit. Am I just happy or do I need to cry for 268 days to wash myself of my mortal desires.  
pitchichu: so when PHICHIT has been telling him thi s for the past five years he doesn't listen but when VICTOR tells him this for the first time today he feels satisfied enough with his life to reach nirvana. i see.  
katsudon-yuri: Hey, what happened to the third-person POV  
pitchichu: humph  
katsudon-yuri: Sorryyyyy  
pitchichu: HUMPH  
katsudon-yuri: I just, sometimes. You know??? I'M SORRY.  
pitchichu: lololol  
pitchichu: ikik, yuuri it ok, i'm just teasing  
katsudon-yuri: Sighhhhhh  
pitchichu: really, tho, i'm glad ur gaining some of the confidence you needed from him.  
pitchichu: ur a great coach for the girls, yuuri  
pitchichu: u don't send one of your thirteen-year-olds off to the gpf by being a bad coach lol  
katsudon-yuri: I guess  
pitchichu: C-O-N-F-I-D-E-N-C-E  
katsudon-yuri: I mean.  
katsudon-yuri: Thank you :)  
pitchichu: yas yas good job my dear yuuri  
katsudon-yuri: You know it's 2025? And no one says yas anymore??  
pitchichu: ok so lik u go from cute quivering little chick to sassy-ass rooster in like .666666s it's very difficult to keep up with u  
katsudon-yuri: I appreciate all your efforts always <3

 

A few nights later Victor asks how much storage they have to hold his stuff since he's thinking about having everything shipped from Russia. Yuuri is in the middle of helping out with an unexpectedly busy dinner service and doesn't have time to ask for details or think this through.

"HUH?!" he shouts over the noise of banging pots and pans. Then, he lowers his voice and says a little more politely, "You can just to the storage to see and tell me what you think," before giving him instructions on the room's whereabouts.

Eventually, things die down enough in the kitchen that Yuuri realizes Victor still has not been back to discuss the storage issue. Curious, he ventures off in search of him. He isn't in the storage or in his own room. Confused, Yuuri wanders through the bath, the dining hall, and then through the rooms adjacent to the storage, thinking maybe Victor had gotten lost.

Fifteen minutes later, Yuuri finds Victor in the farthest room from the storage possible. He is on his knees in front of their household Buddhist alter, staring at the picture on the lowest shelf. He turns upon hearing Yuuri's approaching footsteps.

"Hey," Yuuri says.

"Hey." Victor offers a soft smile. "I got lost."

Yuuri nods and walks over to join Victor on the floor in silence. "I see you met Vi—my dog in the meantime."

"He's a good one," Victor says.

"Yeah." Yuuri swallows like he has taken a gulp of fresh hot chocolate, reveling in the warm that spreads through his core. "The best."

They sit in silence in the dark. It is one of the rare times that Victor doesn't try to stir up a conversation. Yuuri thinks he might try asking about Vicchan's name or how old he was when he passed, but Victor seems perfectly content.

Yuuri has had his suspicions once Victor passed the one-week mark on his stay here and there was no sign of Makkachin anywhere, but looking at him now, Yuuri thinks he doesn't need Victor to spell it out for him. After he retired, Victor had stopped taking interviews about his personal life like he did back when he was almost as much of an idol as he was a skater, and Yuuri doesn't remember Victor mentioning anything about it on any of his SNS accounts, but if Yuuri put some math into it, Makkachin would have been more than a few years past his life expectancy by now. For some reason, though, Yuuri had always held onto a sort of blind faith that Makkachin would be with Victor forever because other than ice skating he seemed to be the only other constant in Victor's life.

Victor shifts off his knees, wrapping his arms loosely around his legs. He leans back against the wall behind him. His fingers find each other in front of his shins. He still doesn't speak a word, but his eyes look like they're talking a mile a minute into the darkness. It's been eight years, but Yuuri remembers sitting in this room for hours on end during his first year back from Detroit, just trying to picture what Vicchan looked like rolling around in the mud, licking his face, running to greet him at the door; and all the conversations they would have about skating, about Yuuri's feelings for Yuuko, about the latest squirrels in the backyard.

Maybe Victor isn't really even seeing or talking to Vicchan, but Vicchan hated seeing people sad and lonely more than anything and he was always such a good sport that Yuuri is sure Vicchan would have loved to help in any way that he could. So he lets Victor be.

It's maybe an hour later, or maybe four, when Victor finally yawns, stretching his arms above his head. Yuuri had started to nod off himself so when he feels Victor's hand on his shoulder, he snaps to consciousness more violently than he intends, pulling something weird on his neck. He winces and tries to reach back to rub at it, but there's only so much good that does.

One of Victor's hands fall on his, nudging it out of the way before kneading at the site of injury. He works in soft, broad strokes, teasing apart the muscle that had stiffened into a tight mess, his palms warmer with the friction of each motion. Closing with some light thumps, Victor begins to draw away, or so Yuuri thinks before his arms are all of a sudden snaking down Yuuri's sides and wrapped firmly around his waist.

"Victor?" Yuuri's heartbeat ramps so abruptly that he feels a little faint. He hopes both this fact and the slight crack in his voice go unnoticed, but he's not holding his breath.

Victor tucks his nose into the curve of Yuuri's neck, where he had just worked his miracle massage, soft strands of his hair tickling the side of Yuuri's cheek. "Sleep with me?" he asks. Yuuri doesn't think he has heard anything so close to a request—so close that it is almost a plea—from Victor since he asked Yuuri to skate with him. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

And Yuuri—he wants to say yes. He almost says yes. Despite many nights of easily rejecting Victor's offers to sleep in the same room, Yuuri has the word on his tongue to grant Victor tonight because Victor tonight is _different_. More human. Less Victor "Living Legend" Nikiforov, his skating idol and spiritual magician of his heart that turns everything he touches into beauty and more Victor Nikiforov, the man who misses his dog so much even after god knows how long and to whom loneliness is a much bigger void than he lets on.

But then Yuuri thinks back to what Victor had told him on the beach earlier last week, about what he does when he doesn't want to be alone back at home in St. Petersburg. Yuuri doesn't have the conceit to delude himself into thinking that Victor wants _that_ from him—if anything, he probably just wants a living body pillow, and Yuuri's just soft and warm enough for that job—and he knows that he would be doing it for Victor, not himself, but he is not sure he can save his feelings from tumbling down a slippery slope to an ugly ski accident if he lets this happen.

"I'll stay up with you if you want company," he offers.

Victor shakes his head. "Sleepy."

"Here, I'll walk you to your room," Yuuri says, slipping free of Victor's hold. When he stands, he extends a hand down to Victor to pull him up. Victor doesn't let go of Yuuri's hand once he's up, but Yuuri figures that he can at least let him have that much.

As Yuuri bids Victor goodnight in front of his room, he almost expects Victor to ask if he's sure he doesn't want to stay in the night. But he doesn't. He just returns Yuuri's hand to his side politely and smiles agreeably in that way Yuuri is beginning to learn he does when he is smiling to try to be happy rather than smiling because he is.

As Yuuri treks back to his own room, he has half a mind to go back, rip open Victor's door, and worm his way under the comforter with him because he has apparently caught Victor's case of the lonelies, and his arms are feeling empty for warmth, too.

But it doesn't need to be Victor, he tells himself.

It can't be Victor.

In his pocket, his fingers run along the edge of his phone, considering. He yawns. He's too old for being alone, he decides. He's too old for starting something new, he decides. He goes to bed, unsure what options are left in between.

 

A pile of boxes arrives a week later. Haphazardly stacked together, they block the back entrance to the inn, but there are few enough of them for Yuuri to count at a glance.

"Who put all this stuff together?" Yuuri asks, wheeling four suitcases behind him.

"I asked Yurio to mail over all my stuff," Victor says from behind an armful of cardboard. "I bet it's _madness_ in here. He was so cranky about it over the phone."

Yuuri can imagine so. It's a pain to pack even for yourself, never mind for someone else. 

But also, does that mean that Yuri has a key to Victor's place? Yuuri frowns to himself. He supposes if he lived alone he might leave a copy with Yuuko or maybe Phichit if he lived close enough, but were Yuri and Victor that close of friends? Yuri did fly all the way over here to bring Victor back...

As if reading Yuuri's mind, Victor continues, "A long time ago I gave him a copy of my key just in case. Yakov has one, too, but I figured I should also leave it with someone who can lift my unconscious body if need be." At the horrified look Yuuri shoots him, Victor laughs and says, "In case someone breaks in and hurts me or something."

"Call the police?!" Yuuri squeaks.

"Well, sure," Victor says, still chuckling at Yuuri's reaction. "But I don't know, I feel like if it was going to be the last thing I saw, I'd rather see the crabby face of someone I know than a stranger's."

Yuuri supposes this makes sense, except that the stranger will hopefully also bring in reinforcement that can save his life. It makes him wonder, though, how much Victor thinks about this. If that's just the type of consideration that becomes necessary when you live all by yourself for so long.

"And that's the last of it!" Victor says, several trips later, putting his arms up in triumph.

"Finally," Yuuri huffs, slumping down on the tatami. Something sparkly catches the corner of his eye. He tugs at the dark gossamer hanging out of one of the suitcases. _Costumes_ , a reverent voice whispers breathlessly in his head.

"Wow!" Victor is peering down into the box he opened. "Looks like we need to give dear Yurio a lesson in bubble wrap."

He moves on to a different box, which tinkles of broken glass when he brings it down to the ground. Victor sighs, shaking his head. He doesn't even open that one, instead walking over to the stack and skimming over the labels on the boxes. He makes a little 'aha!' sound with a finger on one in the middle of a tall stack and pulls it out excitedly.

Making quick work of cutting it open, he roots around for a bit before emerging victoriously with a rectangular foam-wrapped object. When he slides off the wrapping, his face melts over a smile, eyes trembling like ripples under a soft breeze.

"This is my Vicchan," he says, holding the picture out in front of his chest for Yuuri to see. "Except his name is Makkachin."

Yuuri grins at the picture. Victor had put his collection of gold medals around Makkachin's neck and held him in a warm hug, pressed cheek-to-cheek. Makkachin's tongue was out, round eyes big and animated, tail an eager blur behind him. Victor wore the widest, most incandescent grin, as if there was nothing else in the world that pleased him more than sharing the manifestations of his success with the dog that supported him through it all, greeted him at the door every time, tail wagging, no matter what he brought home—gold, silver, bronze, or just a pat on the head.

But then, Yuuri backpedals, "Wait, your _what_?"

Victor tilts his head. "Wasn't your dog's name Vicchan? Your sister said so."

Yuuri groans. Of course. It's not as if his family and all the inn's regulars didn't know that.

Victor doesn't seem to think anything of it, though, as if it was perfectly normal of Yuuri to have had a dog that shared his name. "I wish they could have met each other," he says. "They would have been so cute playing together."

Nodding, Yuuri smiles at the thought. He'd always thought that maybe Vicchan would have liked a playmate, but between ballet lessons and skating practice and school he wouldn't have been able to handle another. Then, a thought strikes him: "Maybe it's not too late for introductions?"

Victor makes an inquisitive sound.

"Well," Yuuri says, carefully, "there's space next to Vicchan." He doesn't know how Victor will react because the picture is obviously important enough for it to be the first thing he searched for in his entire life's possessions and maybe he wants to keep it in his room instead of leaving it on someone else's family alter.

But Victor is already sliding the frame into Yuuri's hands before he can add a nervous "Only if you want to though!" He says, sincerely, "I'd love that. I'm sure Makkachin would love some company."

Abandoning the half-opened boxes behind them, they venture across the house. Victor follows Yuuri's lead, bowing before he enters the room. Yuuri stands the picture frame carefully next to Vicchan's and takes a step back to examine his work.

"Looks perfect," Victor says. He also murmurs something in Russian, but when Yuuri looks at him, he only smiles back and says, "Thank you, Yuuri," and Yuuri supposes that's as lovely an answer as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Losing a beloved pet is the saddest thing and I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, especially not these sweet pumpkins, but. ): Here we are.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, everyone! I can't emphasize how much motivation I find in the wonderful words I've received from you all xoxo
> 
> Next week, the triplets wrap up practice and head off to competitions! Stay tuned!


End file.
